Dream Ticket - 6

SIX

She paid for a vodka and Coke and ignored the appreciative glances from the bar stool dwellers. What a dive. She hated this pub; it was an old man’s drinking place. No music, bright lights or two-for-ones. Instead sticky floors, draft bitter and a dartboard. Exactly why Lewis had picked it, she supposed. She told him no-one under 45 came in here, certainly none of the Syntex crowd.

As she waited for her change, she was half-expecting a come-on from the guy who was drinking what looked like cough medicine from a Bavarian pot stein. He was old enough to be her dad and his eyes hadn’t left her bum since she came in. Money in hand, she couldn’t get away from the bar quick enough.

The lounge area was only small and she had spotted him when she arrived; tucked away in a quiet corner, away from the door and windows. She headed across the 100 year old carpet, the questions of last night resurfacing in her mind and the same familiar butterflies beginning their symphony of beating wings somewhere within her guts.

Simon and her had made love last night, despite everything – the physical desire for both of them easing the tension and healing wounds, but only temporarily. As she lay awake in the early hours, sleep was never going to claim her and she had risen at four, showered and had breakfast with the sparrows. As she dressed, Simon acted as if nothing had happened and was chirpy and talkative, watching her from the bed. Sex for him had washed away the memory of the night before and, in his opinion should be the answer to her problems too.

But she was too preoccupied with what the day held with the other man that had entered her life.

She had arrived at work to find a Post-It from Lewis stuck to her monitor. He was out of the office all day but would meet her for lunch. She quickly hid it in her purse before she forgot and left it lying around. The girls had badgered her for an hour about Lewis from the moment they came in; Elaine first with her direct and gory questions, then Maggie from a more shy perspective, then finally Jane who was looking for stability in her man.

She gave the answers they wanted to hear; that Lewis was gorgeous and had great eyes and smelled nice, he was loaded and drove a posh car and lived on the Quays and was currently unattached. Not realising the turmoil she was in and the desire she had to just lock away the world until lunchtime, her friends kept the subject alive until lunchtime. Emma put as brave a face on as possible - she couldn’t pass off her migraine excuse again and was getting quite weary of their questions by midday. Besides, she had so many others of her own.

She had made an excuse about not lunching with them at the pub, saying she was waiting for a phone call and as soon as the girls had disappeared she’d headed in the opposite direction for the Crown.

‘Do you realise how hard it was to get away on my own today?” she asked, sliding onto the seat opposite, noting with disgust the amount of cigarette burns in the cushion.

‘Really?’ he replied from over his glass, watching her sip her drink.

‘Too right. Those friends of mine have been banging on about you all morning. You’re the first man we’ve ever had in our office. Real man anyway’.

He put down his glass, and rested his chin on his bridged fingers.

‘I suppose Frank didn’t count then?’ he said with his cheeky grin.

Emma spluttered into her glass. ‘You’re joking!’ she said laughing. ‘Puffy Ellis?. Never saw him with a woman, lived with his mum, read model train magazines and..”, she looked round conspiratorially, “..cut pictures from the Daily Sport with a scalpel’. If there was one person who she expected to frequent this shit hole, it would be mild-mannered, mild-drinking Frank.

‘Creative porn, eh?’

‘Yeah. Used to stick them inside his desk door, but Jane saw them once and nearly died giggling. He nearly had a heart attack full stop – never seen anyone turn burgundy before!’

‘So... why “Puffy”?’ Lewis frowned.

‘Ah, well we thought he was gay originally,  but then the Sport girls thing happened and that was after the nickname, but it was too late to change. Maybe he was picking the body he wanted to change into.’

Now it was Lewis’s turn to laugh. ‘You girls.. you’re just so-o bitchy!’

‘Us?!’ she replied innocently, fluttering her lashes.

This was weird. It wasn’t how she thought it would be going. She looked at him as he drank his pint (lager she happily noted) and felt confused. It was a continuation of where they had started yesterday, not how they had left off. He was his easy-going, wise-cracking, smiley self; she had imagined Lewis would be all sheepish and full of apologies. She was on the verge of wondering if it all been a crazy daydream when he reached across and took her hand, jolting her with that electricity again.

‘I’m sorry’ he said, looking down at the scarred table and finding a sudden interest in some illiterate graffiti. ‘I acted like a dickhead yesterday.’

She started to interrupt, but with what she didn’t really know. Something along the lines of No you didn’t which was a complete lie but he held his other hand up to stop her.

‘Please. Let me say this. I got my timing all wrong yesterday. I said too much and now it’s had to wait 24 hours. He raised his eyes to hers. ‘Which hasn’t been easy. Probably on both of us’.

She nodded in acquiescence and raised her eyebrows

‘Sorry’.

‘Look stop saying that will you!’ she blurted. ‘Please! No more apologies. I thought I was going mad when I came in here just now and you acted like nothing had happened. Do you know what sort of night I’ve had? What crazy questions have been running round my head like rabbits?’ She left out her fight with Simon. ‘Now I know it did happen and it wasn’t a... a waking daydream will you please explain what is going on?! Either that or my head will explode. And that will be a bloody mess and that suit looks new.’

There, she’d said it – she’d been wanting to say that since he walked away from her. If she’d had his phone number she’d have called and said it then, or at the many dozens of times through the night as she lay awake, thinking, thinking, thinking.

He shrugged, embarrassed. ‘Self-defence mechanism’ he admitted and took a big sigh. ‘Ok here we go. You ready?’

She growled and raised a hand as if to deal him a back-hander

He smiled and began.

* * *

He was 33 and was (he admitted rather self-consciously) in the words of his former boss “shit hot at marketing”. He was educated to degree level and had garnered a great admiration among his superiors and peers for being a deal-sealer. Qualifications aside, it was his affable, easy-going nature, his winning smile and gift of the gab that invariably got the clients to sign on the dotted line. This natural charm was often worth more than his three years of study.

He’d come to the marketing game late on, having frittered away his first attempt at university (Travel & Tourism with Media Arts) and ended up in his mid-20s with debts up to his eyeballs and no career. Following a bail-out from his dad, he spent eighteen months skiing round Austria and instructing when money was tight. With a bit of luck and having scraped together the bare minimum for start-up fees he attempted to set up an IT business of his own in Germany. When that failed after two years (right place, right hardware, wrong time), he returned to England to regroup and restudy.

He’d learned a lot from his misguided business venture, though; mainly that he could talk people into almost anything. That was the easy bit. Delivering the promise was hard. When a friend suggested he’d make an ideal salesman who could probably flog sand to the Arabs, he began a three year hard slog to get a degree in Marketing (or Advanced Bullshit as he liked to think). He supplemented his second student loan with a cold-calling job for an internet company, where his patter was honed and he landed more signups than many of his contemporaries. He needed the money too; his parents had made it clear in no uncertain terms that they weren’t the Bank of Mum and Dad and that any further debts would be paid by himself. He eventually graduated with a 2:1 and landed a junior position at Syntex, just as they were promoting their wireless office network.

Syntex was a growing IT company that had carved itself a little niche making electronic touch screen browsers. Twice in its history, it had been at the right point in the development of a product to capitalise on a sudden market interest.

With Lewis’ IT background and sales flair he was soon landing the company big contracts and was well on the way to board-level recognition. At last he felt he fitted – he could knowledgeably talk a great product, schmooze even the hardest of hard-nosed customer and best of all, let someone else project manage the delivery. He quite frankly loved his job. Within his first year he had paid back his dad for his first lot of academic debt, bought a Porsche and still had money to spend on an impressive two bedroom apartment overlooking Salford quays.

Following the 9/11 bombings with jobs, flights and routes being slashed, airlines were delighted to find they could save money servicing aircraft by having repair information on Syntex’s browsers. With Lewis’s help Lufthansa, NWA and Delta were their first major customers. This was also the first time Lewis met Simon Wallace.

Being of a similar age with similar sporting interests, Lewis and Simon had a lot in common and Lewis thought they’d become good friends. Slowly though, after only a period of a few months, Lewis realised Simon was a bit of a selfish arse.

He stopped talking and took a swig of his beer.

‘Ok that was the easy bit and yes, I know your husband. And yes, I’m sorry but he’s an arse’.

She stared at him and was at a loss for words. So he’d known she was married before they met yesterday? What did he really want from her? Lewis looked like he’d said too much even though, he’d not really said anything.

‘He can be’ she admitted, finally. After her bathroom revelation last night and their argument, she pretty much didn’t care for him right now either. ‘Is that what this is all about? You wanted to meet to tell me you didn’t like Simon?’ She was intrigued.

He shrugged. ‘Partly, I suppose but there’s other stuff as well. Stuff I think you ought to know’. He paused then pushed on. ‘Simon’s good at his job, like me - but he treats the people around him like shit.’

Emma looked surprised. ‘I had no idea’. She shook her head incredulously. ‘I mean why should I have, he’s not like that at home…” she let the sentence trail off into the air, replaying last night’s words.

What Lewis really disliked about Simon was his disgraceful treatment of women. Lewis had a healthy respect for the fairer sex, instilled by his mother and grandmother, but the way his colleague carried on was the polar opposite of his beliefs. It came as a great surprise to find out Simon was married and he always referred to Emma in a totally disparaging way; “the wife”, “the little woman”, “my lesser half” and even once as “that commission-spending bitch”.

But what annoyed Lewis further was Simon’s lack of morals. He was an arse, but he was also an arse slapper. And a lecherous groper. If you were a female in the Salford office, you were fair game for Simon. Following his promotion he thought he was indispensable; his sales talents unquestionable and he had the full support from the board of Directors. With that power came the belief that all women should find him irresistible. He had made passes at all of them, when both sober and drunk and was lucky not to have been hauled to a disciplinary hearing for sexual harassment. Lewis believed it had been a close call sometimes but he was sure the management team had always protected him and quashed any complaints they may have received.

Her face hardened. ‘Tell me everything,’ she said, ‘if it hurts, it hurts but you’ve said too much now not to go on. Besides, I think I have a right to know, even it is from a man who I only met just over 24 hours ago. But who I feel I’ve known longer’.

She smiled and squeezed his hand in affirmation.

He nodded. ‘Ok. Simon doesn’t deserve you for starters, you’re far too nice for him. I’m afraid your husband’s attitude towards his work colleagues is a disgrace. Everyone is treated with contempt and total disregard; he’s rude, arrogant, argumentative and ruthless. A lot of those traits are necessary in a harsh sales environment but he’s selfish beyond belief. I quickly fell out of friendship with Simon as quick as I fell in. Not that he cared; his selfishness transcends friendship, it seems. He hardly noticed that I was always busy on squash nights or was working late when he wanted a pint. The world revolves around him and if you get too close you’ll be taken for a spin and dumped very quickly.’

He took a deep breath, sighed and looked her in the eye. ‘I’m sorry, Emma. And this time I mean sorry for having to tell you this, not sorry for yesterday.’

‘Why do you have to tell me?”

‘I first saw you about a year ago’ he explained. ‘You were sitting in Simon’s pen in a small photo frame. I couldn’t keep my eyes off you every time I saw it.’

He stopped and waited for her reaction.

‘Really? Which photo was it?’

‘You had your hair tied back and were wearing a silky pink top. It looked warm. I think you may have been in a café because there was an umbrella in the background. You were holding a glass of white wine and smiling that pretty smile of yours. Your eyes were sparkling and you looked completely happy’.

Lewis looked at the table, as if ashamed at his memory.

‘Caymen Islands.’ she replied, unfazed by his flattery. ‘Last year. I’m impressed you remembered so much’.

‘Believe me, I was drawn to that photograph. For months I could see it from my desk and then, on the day I sat at Simon’s old desk, looked down and you were staring up at me’.

Emma frowned. ‘Up at you? From Simon’s desk? You’ve lost me’

‘I hope not’ he mumbled.

She frowned and lowered her voice to a sharp hiss. ‘Don’t start all that again. Coded sentences, half-explained words. Just tell me what this is all about.’

‘I’m trying to, but it’s a bit of a long tale. Can I get you another drink, before I go on? I know I need one, and not just because my throat’s dry.’

She nodded ‘Same again, please. Voddy and coke.’

She turned and watched him walk over to the bar, more confused than ever. There was a story developing here, and it was becoming more complicated than it originally seemed. Simon was involved in all of this, but she didn’t know how just yet. It was no coincidence Lewis turning up in their office like that, of that she was now sure. This helped to settle some of the butterflies and questions that were buzzing inside her, but not all. In a way, she found it a little disappointing; that there was another reason for Lewis’s sudden interest in her life besides just herself. She decided to hear him out and leave her questions until he’d finished. Despite her frustration at his constant apologies and stalling, she found that she was not really angry with him and was enjoying his company, even though he was telling her things that she found uncomfortable. She felt somehow though that they would have been even more difficult to deal with before last night’s confrontation.

Lewis returned with their drinks, took a sip and continued.

‘Simon and I worked opposite each other in Salford. Same desks, different sides of the corridor. Like I said, we got on initially but that all changed and changed for good once I found out about his promotion. When that area job came up last year, I was chuffed to bits; Adams, the chairman, told me that I’d made the shortlist of four, if I was interested. Interested? I jumped at the chance! I was on the shortlist and Simon wasn’t. We were evenly matched so there was always a little bit of needle in our day-to-day lives and of course I took this opportunity to rub it in. But he diffused it all, saying that he wasn’t bothered about the job anyway. It was too much hassle for the extra money, he said and would have withdrawn from the list had he been selected. That took the wind out my sails. Unless he was lying of course, but then again, that’s what he does best – Sales and Marketing is 30% misinformation. He was probably hiding his disappointment and jealousy with his usual style.

‘The selection process was by interview panel and they said I had a good chance. There were some external candidates but I had the product knowledge so I was quite hopeful. The week before the interview I grabbed a quick snowboarding break in Val d’Isere, just me and some old uni pals. Ha! “Break” was right. We had a great time until the last day. I was coming down a steep black mogul run and just lost it on some fresh snow. Totally missed my mark and fell heavily. I broke my right arm in two places.

‘I was airlifted to Albertville and was in hospital for a week. The week of the interviews. But I thought I’d be fine, didn’t I? They wouldn’t just go ahead and ignore me just because of an accident. After all, I’d phoned Simon from the hospital and explained everything. He was very sympathetic. He said he’d tell the directors and get them to postpone my interview until I was back in the UK. Told me to relax and everything would be fine. Said that Syntex wouldn’t hire someone without looking at every candidate and reminded me that it was me who’d been selected, it was not as if I’d applied for the job. Did I have insurance, was I ok for money? I was reassured. Looking back now I should have realised he was being too nice, but I was just relieved that I hadn’t blown my chance.

‘When I was discharged I got the train to Lyon and flew back to Manchester that night. I still had another three weeks off sick, but I wanted to see old Adams straight away in person. To explain that I still wanted that interview.

‘The next day, I got to work at my usual time. The girls on reception made a fuss as I came in, saying they didn’t expect me in yet, go home and wait til I got my cast off, I was a workabloodyholic. I laughed it off as I got the lift up to my floor. That was the last time I laughed for a long time.

‘The lift opened in the corridor outside our office and even as I walked towards the big glass doors I knew something wasn’t right. I could actually see the back wall opposite – Simon had this massive poster of Uma Thurman, the movie advert for Pulp Fiction – he’s mad about Tarantino. That’s all you could normally see when you got out of the lift; Uma lying on her front, looking all sultry; smoking and pouting. Well, the poster was missing. And as I came through the door that’s not all that was missing. Simon’s whole desk was empty.

‘I wandered slowly up the corridor into Simon’s pen and looked around, as if I expected him to be hiding in the corner, but there was nothing there. All his files, papers, whiteboard, his PC – gone. But all I really noticed was Uma was no longer watching me, there was just a dark purple rectangle and some old Blu Tak.

‘There was no-one else around either, which wasn’t unusual as it was so early – I used to enjoy the early starts, you could get so much done before the place filled up. I went over to my desk, scratching my head and also trying to scratch my damn arm through the plaster. Nothing had changed there apart from the pile of mail on my side table. I was just about to turn to head for the top floor to see Adams when I noticed the Post-It on my monitor. It was from Simon. Have my desk, mate - it’s bigger and you can see the women in the gym. Looks like we both got a break! See you around’.

Lewis gave a deep sigh as if reliving some personal pain, and Emma held his other hand, enthralled and excited by his voice despite the unhappy tale he was telling. She was pretty sure she knew how the story ended now anyway and didn’t like its implications, but didn’t want to interrupt him as he was in full flow.

‘At the back of my mind, just like another itch I couldn’t scratch, was this little niggling idea. This thought was starting that began to trickle down my back like iced water. He wouldn’t? Would he? But this thought got no further because at that moment the door opened and Adams came in.’

Chapter 7